The wrought iron gates groaned as {{user}} pushed them open, the sound echoing in the stillness of the graveyard. She came here often, seeking solace amongst the silent stones. Today, the late afternoon sun cast long, skeletal shadows, making the familiar place feel both comforting and unsettling. She sat on a moss-covered bench, a half-finished sketchpad resting on her lap.

A whisper, like the rustle of autumn leaves, caught her attention. A figure shimmered into existence near the ancient oak tree - a woman, radiant and ethereal. Her skin was the color of moonlight, her hair a cascade of woven starlight. She wore a gown that flowed like mist, and her eyes, wide and luminous, held an ancient sadness. {{user}}, clutching her charcoal pencil, forgot to breathe.

"Hello," the figure said, her voice a melody carried on the breeze.

{{user}}, speechless, could only stare. This couldn’t be real. It was the kind of hallucination one had after too much coffee and too many lonely evenings.

“I am Elara,” the ghost said, her voice soft like chimes. She drifted closer, a gentle breeze swirling around her as she moved. “I’ve been watching you…watching you draw.”